


Those days

by ABlueLightInTheDark



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Depression, Depressive Episode, M/M, Raphael really deserves nothing more than to be happy, feelings of worthlessness, simon is a good boyfriend, why am i like this then?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABlueLightInTheDark/pseuds/ABlueLightInTheDark
Summary: It’s one of those days again. He feels… nothing.Not sad, not angry, definitely not happy, just… nothing.His whole body feels empty as if it’s just a vessel without a soul.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another sad story about Raphael.  
> I do not know why I keep doing this to him, I love him, but it just happens... I'm very sorry, please forgive me. 
> 
> WARNING: Raphael has a depressive episode in this story. If that might trigger you please don't read it. I love you.

It’s one of _those_ days again. 

Raphael would say that he doesn’t like them, but to be honest he’s not so sure.  
He somehow misses them when they’ve been gone for a while.  
He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he should be glad, but he feels very… uneasy when they stop coming.  
They are like… like an old friend — or better — a cousin, who visits very often.  
And although you hate them, no matter how much you despise them and want them gone when they are there, they are still something familiar. You are used to them; when they start coming less and less you just feel like something is missing. 

Yeah, that’s probably how Raphael feels about _those_ days.

It’s a nice day, the sun is shining and the sky is clear, or at least that’s what Magnus told him this morning, because Raphael has yet to leave his bed. (Spoiler alert: He won’t.)

He has been laying on his back for exactly six hours now, his gaze turned towards the ceiling.  
It’s dark, so he can’t actually see anything, because the curtains are still drawn and they keep any sort of sunlight out of his room.

Raphael feels slightly sick and he knows it’s his stomach craving food and water, but he doesn’t give in to the craving, because the thought of eating makes him want to throw up. 

Other than that he feels… nothing.  
Not sad, not angry, definitely not happy, just… nothing.  
His whole body feels empty as if it’s just a vessel without a soul.

It’s hard to move.  
One would think the emptiness would make him feel light, but instead it’s quite the opposite:  
Raphael feels like he’s moving through water; he couldn’t run if he wanted to. So he just doesn’t move at all. 

It’s hard to breathe, too. Every half an hour or so he just stops (because he forgets, he forgets to breathe…) and his lungs start screaming in a reminder that it is something he really needs to do.  
He complies, but it’s exhausting and Raphael wished he could just… stop. Stop breathing, like he stopped moving six hours ago.  
But he doesn’t want to die, not today at least, because today there’s a small voice telling him that his mother would probably be sad. Maybe?  
He doesn’t want people to be sad — it’s actually the last thing he wants.  
His sadness is his and he already is a burden to everyone he knows, they shouldn’t have to deal with his death, too. 

Someone knocks at the door to his room and Raphael closes his eyes in pain.  
Every time the fist collides with the wood it feels as if someone is ramming a stake through his scull.  
Raphael doesn’t react though, it seems like a useless effort to actually vocalize words he doesn’t care about for someone he doesn’t care about, so he just waits and hopes that whoever is at the door will stop knocking and go on with their day. 

The door suddenly creaks and Raphael can feel light flood his room even though his eyes are closed.  
A quiet groan escapes him and his throat starts to itch horribly due to the fact that he hasn’t made a sound for nearly half a day now. 

“Raphael?“ A voice asks him carefully and he slowly opens his eyes.

It’s Simon.  
Why is Simon here?  
He wants to ask him, but all that comes out of his mouth is a cranky “Why?“

Simon sighs slightly and Raphael can hear him shuffling and then the boy suddenly appears in front of him. 

“Magnus had to take over another shift at the coffee-shop and he was worried about you, so he called me. I don’t have any classes today so I came.“ Simon explains with a small smile and Raphael stares at him.  
It wasn’t his intention to make people worry. 

“Have you drunken something today?“ Simon asks softly after a few seconds of silence and Raphael continues to stare at him, because why does he care? Why does he care about someone as worthless as Raphael? Why does he care if he knows that Raphael doesn’t? Raphael does not understand him. 

Simon seems to know the answer to his question, at least according to the sigh that escapes him. There’s still a small smile playing around his lips, a little sad, but still there. Raphael does not understand him. 

“I’m going to bring you something.“ He tells Raphael and Raphael breathes in and then out and just keeps staring.  
Simon leaves the room, but doesn’t close the door and Raphael glares at the small beam of sunlight that disturbs his darkness rather rudely. 

Raphael stops glaring at it after a few seconds, because it’s tiring and then continues to stare at the ceiling. This time he can actually see it, but it is pretty uneventful. Everything is pretty uneventful at the moment.

Simon comes back and Raphael briefly wonders how long he has been gone. It feels like ages but also seconds… He really doesn’t know. He doesn’t care either. 

The younger boy puts something down on the table next to Raphael’s bed and then pulls the curtains open and then the windows and Raphael hates him.  
The sunlight is blinding and Raphael wants to cry out, wants Simon to leave him alone, because Simon doesn’t understand him, no one does except the darkness.  
The darkness understands because it rather compliments the emptiness which fills Raphael’s mind and stomach.  
But instead of telling Simon that, he just squeezes his eyes shut tightly and hopes that Simon will go.  
Hopes that his soul and mind will actually leave his body, because he can’t stand it at the moment; it’s too harsh and too soft and his nails are not sharp enough as he digs them into his palms. 

Suddenly there are warm hands covering his own, long fingers open Raphael’s fists and then stroke over his palm in a soothing manner and Raphael tenses.  
Simon knows how he feels about touching, Simon knows everything. Simon knows everything, but he doesn’t care — no, wait, wrong: He cares, he cares so much and keeps being gentle and soft and Raphael hates it, hates it, hates it, hates _him_.  
Raphael doesn’t deserve him, so he hates him.

“Raphael.“ Simon calls him quietly and Raphael begrudgingly complies and opens his eyes.  
They are burning, because of the godawful sunlight, but he ignores it and tries to focus on Simon. 

Simon has let his hands go and is now holding a cup of tea. Raphael frowns at the liquid.  
He doesn’t want to drink something, his body doesn’t deserve it. _He_ doesn’t deserve it, because it would make him feel better and he doesn’t want to feel better. Or does he?

Simon is waiting patiently and just watches Raphael as he struggles with himself. 

“Do it for me. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me.“ The younger boy says after a few minutes and Raphael closes his eyes, tells himself that it isn’t for himself but for Simon, so it is ok. It is ok, ok, ok, ok. Stop. He’ll do it for Simon, he can do it for Simon.

His body feels like cement as he sits up and leans his back against the headboard. Everything is blurry for a few seconds, but then he can focus again when Simon smiles proudly at Raphael and puts the cup into his hands. 

Raphael presses his lips together, because he had been hoping that the cup would be hot enough to burn his fingers, but Simon knows everything, so the cup is only lukewarm. 

The liquid is pleasantly hot and Raphael takes deep breaths, his nose buried inside the cup for a while.  
He stays like that for a few more seconds and when he looks up again Simon has crawled into the bed with him, his cold feet pressing against Raphael’s under the blanket.

Raphael puts the cup of tea down and watches quietly as Simon laces their fingers together.  
There are a few seconds of silence until Raphael looks up again and notices Simon watching him. 

“I love you.“ Simon tells him softly and Raphael blinks.  
Right. He forgot.  
It almost makes him feel bad that he doesn’t care (at the moment). Almost.

“I really do love you, Raphael Santiago. Every little thing that makes you you, I love it with all of my heart.“ Simon whispers again, probably to fill the silence and because he knows that Raphael doesn’t believe him.

He doesn’t, but he also doesn’t care.  
Not now, not today.  
Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow. Maybe then he’ll care and maybe then he’ll remember how it is to love Simon Lewis, like he always remembers after _those_ days.  
But not today. Today there’s only emptiness.

Simon squeezes his hand and Raphael remembers to breathe again. 

Not today, no. But maybe tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are awesome, I'd love to hear what you think of it :)
> 
> Visit me on tumblr and scream at me @ abluelightinthedark
> 
> I love you very much


End file.
